


A Lucky Guess

by Anonymous



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Dominant Saihara, Light BDSM, Love Hotel, M/M, Ouma is a brat through the entire thing, Spanking, Unbeta'd because we die like men, Very very submissive masochist Ouma, blowjob, smut smut smut, thigh fucking, who is also a teeny widdle bit chubby because it makes my DICK HARD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:46:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Saihara struggles to figure out a boy he never thought he'd be sexually interested in. After a lot of useless deliberation, it hits him: could it be that the loud, mean-spirited, obnoxious supreme leader actually wants to be dominated?





	A Lucky Guess

There was no winning with Kokichi Ouma.

 

During the first few weeks, Saihara hadn't thought much of him. He was a nuisance at best, a bully who drove poor Kiibo up the wall and brought Himiko to tears with his insistence that magic wasn't real. Saihara was in fact rather sure that if the sixteen of them weren't locked together in this academy and pretty much forced to interact on a daily basis, everyone would shun Ouma. The potent double whammy of being a self-proclaimed liar (how full of yourself would you have to be to be _proud_ of that?) and also incredibly annoying in every sense of the word made him overwhelmingly unpopular.

 

Things should have stayed that way.

 

Spoiler: they didn't. One fateful night, Saihara made the mistake of visiting the love hotel and bumped into the lying sack of shit himself. What followed was the nerve-wracking experience of both trying to understand what was happening and trying not to let Ouma provoke him into doing anything unreasonable. Yet at its core, the event had given him a shortcut to being somewhat intimate with the guy whether he liked it or not.

 

Saihara left the suite feeling that he knew even less about Ouma than he thought he did. Oh, and this traitorous thought tagged along:

 

_Ouma-kun is kind of cute._

 

It wasn't a thought Saihara was proud of having, but it...sort of made sense, at least. That must've been how Ouma was able to pull off throwing literal temper tantrums in public, and why Miu didn't kick him to the curb for throwing perverted insults at her. He had the benefit of his cuteness to protect him.

 

This explanation backfired. Saihara found himself getting irritated again, a common occurrence when Ouma was involved. He'd fallen for another one of Ouma's tricks. Never mind that this "trick" consisted of Ouma's entire physical body -- Ouma was the kind of person that took every advantage he could, and if he could get away with things by virtue of looking cute, he'd obviously milk that feature for all it was worth.

 

What a conniving little...any grown man would look like a monster throwing a much-deserved punch at tiny, fragile-looking Ouma, with his big, innocent eyes and sweet smile. In reality, Ouma was the monster.

 

This same monster continued to make an increasingly dismayed Saihara fall for him. First, Saihara accepted that he definitely found Ouma rather attractive. That wasn't that weird. It was certainly possible to have a pretty face but a rotten soul. Then came the dangerous middle ground where Ouma's grating laughter started to make Saihara's heart flutter. That was a little weird, because everyone else agreed that Ouma sounded like a horse when he laughed.

 

The last straw fell on the camel's back at breakfast one day.

 

"It's not my fault all of the herbivores in this lame academy don't want a piece of my bangin' bod," Miu complained, leaning back in her chair.

 

Ouma grinned like a schoolyard bully throwing his food fight accomplice under the bus. "More like they don't want your undetected chlamydia, _bungee cunt._ "

 

Saihara let out a shocked sputter that horrifyingly transformed into a chuckle in the split second before he extinguished it with a piece of toast. No. Not funny. _Not funny._

 

Everyone else groaned, various voices urging Ouma to shut up and not talk about those things while they were eating, but Ouma had already pounced on Saihara. "Saihara-chan, did you laugh? I can't believe you! You had us all thinking that you were a spineless softie when you were really a douchebag all along...Ah, how could you deceive us like this..."

 

It may have been acceptable to appreciate Ouma's voice and face as a detached observer, but tolerating his shitty personality was a death blow. A barrier crumbled that day, and that night, Saihara defeatedly paid a second visit to his arch-nemesis in the love hotel.

 

The phantom thief talked in circles around a tired detective for an hour straight before suddenly leaning in close.

 

Oh god, it was happening. Saihara squeezed his eyes shut and kept his lips slightly parted.

 

Except it wasn't. "Eh? What're you making that stupid face for?"

 

"Huh?"

 

"Ohh, did you think I was going to kiss you? Tough luck, buddy. I know I'm dark and alluring and all that, but you shouldn't let your feelings get in the way of your work."

 

A smug phantom thief walked out of the suite with the detective's car keys.

 

On Saihara's third visit, the two rivals actually managed to lock lips, stopping his heart for a measly second. But of course, before he could savor any romantic feelings from kissing his...okay, his crush for the first time, Ouma hocked a fat loogie into his mouth and ran away cackling. It was both miraculous and anger-inducing that after spitting the last of the phlegm out, Saihara _still_ had feelings for that rascal.

 

The fourth visit was as awkward as the first, with Ouma claiming he was bored before anything substantial could happen. Saihara suspected that the interest Ouma had supposedly displayed in him was indeed a lie, since their interactions had grown so lukewarm that the normally energetic phantom thief had left early this time. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel.

 

The fifth visit was supposed to be Saihara's last, but considering how volatile of a person Ouma was, things turned out quite differently.

 

"Come on, Saihara-chan! Throw me a haymaker! Deck me right in the face!" Ouma's eyes sparkled incongruously, as if he didn't know what he had just said.

 

 _Now he's asking me to punch him...I have no idea what he wants. He must be toying with me again._ Saihara grimaced. Giving up on this piece of work sounded like a great idea. "Er...I don't want to resort to violence, Ouma-kun."

 

Ouma tutted his tongue. "You and your level head. Just when I thought I could rile you up into doing something reeeaaaally drastic...You're a tough nut to crack."

 

 _What...does that even mean?_ Saihara knitted his eyebrows, the loading screen that his silence implied almost palpable.

 

Ouma's round eyes blinked. "I guess that means I have to help you along!"

 

"H-huh?"

 

It would never cease to be startling how quickly Ouma could swing from looking like a harmless jokester to downright possessed. He was whiplash in a bottle. "Maaan, is this what detectives are like? Color me disappointed. I was so excited about having an real private eye track me down, but it looks like you're just a useless rookie."

 

 _Yikes, the mood totally changed. This isn't looking good._ Saihara took a step back, trying to mask his inner turmoil with a controlled frown.

 

"I mean, every time I've presented you with a perfect opportunity to cuff me and take me away, you sit there and twiddle your thumbs. I don't even have to break a sweat to escape you." Ouma sighed loudly, shaking his head. "Getting away so easily is no fun! I might as well leave right now, since you're boring me to tears." On cue, fresh tears budded in his eyes as he threw Saihara a pitiful look.

 

 _Ugh...I can't make heads or tails of him. Everything that comes out of his mouth sounds like a lie, so does he actually want me to let him escape again?_   "Well, I guess I can't stop you..."

 

And just like that, any and all traces of an expression were wiped from Ouma's face. "You can't?"

 

Saihara fumbled. "You're a tough opponent, so..."

 

"Stupidhara-chan is so incompetent he can't bring himself to restrain a dangerous criminal like me." Ouma's voice was harsh, lacking its usual playful bounciness. He took a step toward Saihara. "Don't you know? I was the one behind the disappearance of that famous mage's precious headdress! And that well-known anthropologist whose valuable book of ancient scriptures went missing? That was me, too."

 

 _Mage? Anthropologist? Wait, he must be talking about how he stole Yumeno-san's hat today. Shinguuji-kun's missing book must also be his fault._ It was no revelation that Ouma was a headache through and through, but why would he bring it up like this? Was he perhaps bragging about his ill-begotten spoils? Saihara only grew more confused by the minute. "Admitting to your crimes in front of a detective wouldn't help you," Saihara observed, not without an irked tint to his words.

 

"It's hopeless." Though Ouma didn't actually shrug, the gesture came through in his tone of voice. "After all this time, all you do is state the obvious. Makes me wonder why people think a dumbass like you could ever hope to capture me." His shoulders slumped, as if he was expressing sympathy for the poor imbecile he was currently needling.

 

One hand threatening to curl into a fist, Saihara found himself a little short on patience. "Ouma-kun --" Hold on. _No! This is Ouma-kun's fantasy, so even if I'm angry at him, I need to play along. I can't let him get to me like this._ In these kinds of situations, the best practice was to zoom out and separate the cold facts of the situation from your emotions. Saihara took a few calming breaths. He had to think about this logically.

 

_So far, Ouma-kun has tried to goad me into punching him, insulted my credibility as a detective, and admitted to several imaginary crimes that sound suspiciously like things he actually did._

 

_It's almost like he wants me to get mad at him._

 

As soon as this possibility presented itself, Saihara's detective brain lit up like a switchboard. Things started to make sense.

 

_That would explain why even in his fantasy, he irritates people. He must have left early last time because I wasn't acting the way he wanted me to. Yes, I'm certain that this is it! So now..._

 

"Yoo-hoo, detective! Is that slow brain of yours grinding to a halt in there?" Ouma reached forward and rapped on the side of Saihara's head three times. "Oh, whoops. Sounds like this thing is actually hollow." A smug, patronizing grin lifted one corner of his mouth. "My bad."

 

With his new deductions in mind, Saihara let the ugly feelings inside of him run through his veins freely. With one hand, he seized the arm Ouma had extended so insolently by the wrist. His instincts screamed at him to let it go, Ouma was dangerous, this couldn't end well -- but Ouma's eyes had widened by the tiniest fraction of an inch. That detail alone made Saihara press on. "That's enough. I'm not just going to let you do as you please."

 

Now that he was looking for evidence, it appeared much more easily in front of him. The skin on Ouma's neck shifted ever-so-slightly as he presumably swallowed. Saihara's heart pounded in his chest. _Is that it? Are we finally getting somewhere?_

 

"Oh? You're not? What's the worst a wimpy, cowardly rookie can do?" When things were going badly, Ouma was bored. When things were going well, he was intrigued. Right now, he was gazing directly into Saihara's eyes with a dark intensity that made Saihara's palms sweat. "Are you pissed off? You look like you could beat me to a pulp right now. That's a scary look, Saihara-chan. I'm shaking in my boots." His round, boyish, _punchable_ face twisted itself into a wide jeer. "Hey. Just in case the slurry inside your thick skull can't process that, that was a lie."

 

With his free hand, Saihara struck the little brat right across his smug face with a resounding, final _smack_.

 

Ouma gasped -- actually, audibly gasped, one hand flying to his stinging cheek to press at it like he couldn't believe what had happened. In the moments following, Saihara was treated to an intoxicating sight. He'd seen Ouma make all sorts of wild expressions before, from sneering to frightened to wailing with tears pouring out of his eyes like they were waterfalls, but he'd never seen _this_.

 

Across Ouma's usually pale cheeks, becoming more visible with each passing second, lay a swath of delicate pink. It crawled all the way to the tips of his ears, painting him with the heavy blush of a schoolgirl who'd just confessed. His eyes glimmered as he lifted his head, amazement written all over his features. "That hurt," he whispered.

 

Even the harsh edges of his voice had been sandpapered off. As if that wasn't enough, the bastard was smiling.

 

_No way...Ouma-kun..._

 

_...Really liked being slapped..._

 

Saihara overheated instantly. There was too much going on and he was nowhere near focused enough to handle any of it. In a matter of seconds, the righteously gruff, confident facade he'd built up came crashing down, and he was back to stuttering and wheezing. "I, er, sorry. Um, my uh," _I'm a detective here, right? Right._ "My boss wants to meet with me. You stay right here," he added hastily, remembering the scenario.

 

With that, he quickly released the wrist he was holding and dashed out the door, leaving a beautifully flustered Ouma standing there dumbly in a flashy hotel room with a wooden horse carouseling needlessly around the bed.

 

Throughout the next few days, Saihara kept piecing together more parts of Ouma's strange fantasy. The supreme leader was so commandeering and extravagant in everyday life that no one would suspect he'd be anything other than ruthlessly dominant in the bedroom. Nobody would be able to point at the boy who had the nerve to heartlessly shout down gentle, defenseless Gonta and say that he secretly harbored a masochistic streak a mile wide.

 

...Nobody except the Ultimate Detective. In that garish suite, Ouma seemed to view detectives as violent people who threatened and tortured him, then tied him down and roughed him up. It had slipped Saihara by on grounds of sheer impossibility for so long, but remembering what had happened during that fateful fifth visit to the love suite, it couldn't be clearer.

 

"Pass me the salt, pig bitch."

 

"Wanna try that again, short stuff? You'll regret calling me that once I'm famous, you know."

 

"Famous for whoring yourself out to any guy that'll give you a second glance, you mean? You should be grateful that I'm paying you any attention at all, you cock-thirsty cow."

 

"Heeeeeee?"

 

"See? You're getting off on it. I'm doing you a favor."

 

Snippets of conversation like this made Saihara's ears perk up, as much as he tried to direct his attention back to his own chat with Kaito. Nobody could know about the flashes of indecent imagery that popped up in his head when Ouma bent over the table to grab the salt. Nobody could know that he had indecent thoughts about _Ouma_. But still...

 

_A favor, huh? I wonder if it's because he understands Iruma-san's desires. He's just much better at lying it away than she is._

 

The lukewarm nights where Ouma seemed content to leave at any time or talked incessantly in circles started to make sense, too. In the dream world his mind had concocted, Saihara was pursuing him, but on those nights, Saihara only sat there and played damage control. It must have looked like Saihara was the one who wasn't interested.

 

_I think I can satisfy you now, Ouma-kun._

 

_Next time, I'll be sure to pursue you._

 

Next time, the very instant Saihara spotted that familiar octopus hair and patterned scarf, he slammed the door behind himself and barked, "Freeze! Hands up!"

 

Surprsingly enough, Ouma complied. He had a rather bemused expression on his face, unsure what to make of the authoritative tone his shy, fumbling _beloved Saihara-chan_ had suddenly adopted. "Oh, Mister Detective! Fancy seeing you here. I just got done shoving diamonds up my asshole for my latest heist. Oof, they're really poking at me in there."

 

"What."

 

"Nishishi, look at your stupid face! Did I getcha? You didn't seriously believe that, did you?"

 

Saihara felt the familiar tick of irritation growing in his chest and rolled with it. "Anyway, the point is...you're under arrest." A pair of handcuffs jingled as he drew it up by its chain.

 

This was Ouma's magic combination. Saihara sensed that he was stepping over a line here, crossing from the Ouma he saw every day tormenting Kiibo for his very existence to this new, unknown creature who bit his lip at the sight of the handcuffs, pupils dilating.

 

_I guess this is what Ouma-kun looks like when he's aroused._

 

Saihara closed in on him, clicking the cuffs over one thin wrist and then the other.

 

_Ah...I'm actually doing this. He isn't resisting at all, so it looks like I was right about him._

 

"Wow, you're finally handcuffing me! Took you long enough. Hey, what are we gonna do now? Gonna sit me down for some paperwork and shut me up in a cell? Legal documents really get my blood pumping, you know." The shadow of desire that had crossed Ouma's face earlier was now sloppily painted over with a veneer of his usual obnoxiousness.

 

 _Even now, he won't shut up._ "Running your mouth won't get you out of this one, Ouma-kun." Saihara let go of the handcuffs and nudged his captive's shoulder sharply. "Put your hands on the wall over there. Lean over."

 

"Aha...I really got myself into trouble this time." If there was any possibility that Ouma didn't want this, it had evaporated by now. He sounded pleased, like a remorseless cat perched on the counter above the remains of five shattered china plates. With that same aura, he sauntered over to the wall, bending over at an angle that could only be described as sexual.

 

Saihara followed him, promptly placing one hand on either side of Ouma's hips. Muscles tensed beneath his palms as Ouma shivered with excitement. "I'm going to search you, so hold still," Saihara instructed. What a bizarre situation -- he had Ouma at his mercy, not the other way around. His hands traveled up Ouma's back first, trailing over rough denim. They slithered down Ouma's arms, moved on to his ankles, up his legs, over his buttocks, then across his stomach and chest. The heat of his body started to seep through his clothing as his breathing grew heavier and heavier.

 

"I don't think I found anything," Saihara remarked.

 

"Sucks to suck, rookie." Ouma was practically panting.

 

"You didn't actually steal anything, did you?" One hand tapped the small of Ouma's back, the concentrated sensation making him squirm. "You lied about tonight's jewel heist just to bother us."

 

"Oh no, you finally figured it out! I made you come all the way out here on a lazy Friday night for nothing. Does that rustle your jimmies?" _Yes, because it sounds exactly like something you would do._ "But that's a lie too. I did steal something!"

 

"Oh? And what would that be?"

 

"Your precious time," Ouma sang, stretching his body provocatively.

 

_With the way Ouma-kun is acting right now, I can't help but understand why Harukawa-san wants to beat him up so badly._

 

"Of course." Saihara merely smiled, closing his eyes in what would have looked like contentment out of context. When he opened them again, he caught Ouma staring back at him, the self-satisfied grin from earlier wavering slightly under Saihara's gaze. _I'm going to wipe that grin off of your face._ "Well, now that I'm here, I should take care of something."

 

"Ah?" Ouma was still staring at Saihara over his shoulder, watching, waiting to see if Saihara really had the gall to do what he was about to do.

 

"Ouma-kun...This is just a little payback for all the trouble you've caused." With that, he seized Ouma by those odd thigh straps, eliciting a nervous giggle.

 

"S-Saihara-chan, you're not drunk, are you?" Though restrained, Ouma was at liberty to flee if he really wanted to. Given how flushed he was getting, however, it didn't seem like he'd be leaving anytime soon. "That's cheating, okay? I can't respect a detective who needs to chug liquid courage in order to face his enemies. How pathetic."

 

"I can assure you that I'm a hundred percent sober."

 

"N-nghhh..." It was disguised as a frustrated grunt, but Saihara knew better. "Well, either way, I'm not concerned. Do your worst, rookie."

 

"Here I go," Saihara said, cocking his hand. The fabric of his sleeve rustled as he brought it forward and Ouma tensed, sucking in a heavy breath. "Ah. Wait, I forgot something."

 

_He always toys with other people, so I suppose it's only fair I do the same to him._

 

Ouma turned his head again, glancing over to see what the hell Saihara could have possibly forgotten, and his jaw dropped. Despite the shade of red currently adorning his cheeks, Saihara was calmly tugging Ouma's pants down. The V-stance of Ouma's legs held them at his knees when they dropped. Saihara wasn't done yet. He grabbed onto the waistband of Ouma's candy-striped underwear and started to pull.

 

Slowly but surely, Ouma's bare ass came into view. It wasn't like Saihara had imagined what it looked like, no way, but he had certainly expected something a little more...concave. He gave it an experimental squeeze, forcing a tiny noise out of Ouma's throat. It was squishy and pale with barely any muscle tone, like a cushion for somebody who sat on it and ordered people around all day without doing any work himself. _He does like to talk about his subordinates a lot._

 

Smack.

 

Ouma yelped, legs trembling. A faint red handprint stood out on his pudgy rump. "Oh god...Saihara-chan, that's..."

 

_Not so cocky now, are you?_

 

Smack.

 

_"Toujou-chan, I spilled my Panta! Clean it up for me! Wait, bring me another one from the fridge while you're at it. Oh, oh, wear mops on your feet so you can do both at the same time. Just kidding! Were you actually gonna do it?"_

 

Smack.

 

_"Only a dumb grunt like Momota-chan would think that. Whoopsie, never mind, I mixed him up with Gonta. Actually, both of you are idiots! Go away, you're making my brain cells rot!"_

 

Smack.

 

_"I think Harukawa-chan and Kiiboy make a cute couple. They're both cold, heartless, and incapable of feeling human compassion. This way, nobody else has to deal with them! Aren't I a great matchmaker?"_

 

Smack.

 

_Saying things like that has consequences, Ouma-kun._

 

Trussed up and spanked silly, Ouma didn't even have the presence of mind to speak. Each ringing slap drew a louder hiss out from between his teeth until he was letting out little whimpers of pleasure, knees threatening to buckle underneath him.

 

_Even though I'm taking my anger out on him, he's having such a good time...He's pretty strange all around._

 

At this point, the delicate skin of the supreme leader's rear was an alarming shade of red, tender and hot to the touch. Ouma had slipped down the wall, elbows braced against it to support his trembling frame. Saihara became acutely aware of how uncomfortably tight his pants felt. "...You can stand up now," he announced.

 

Ouma obeyed, staggering a bit as he helped himself up. He tugged his uniform top downwards over his reddened cheeks, as if suddenly ashamed. As he was busy adjusting the tattered back of his jacket, Saihara couldn't help but notice that the only thing keeping his boxers up was a veritable coathanger of an erection.

 

_So he likes it rough. Whatever I do next should be at least somewhat painful for him if I want him to enjoy this..._

 

"You're tougher than I thought, detective." Oh. Ouma's laser vision was pinpointed on Saihara's crotch. "But! I don't regret what I've done at all. Everyone I targeted had it coming, especially that lazy, good-for-nothing mage."

 

Whether it was a lie or not, it was an invitation. Saihara took it. "Then I'll have to punish you more," he muttered darkly, hating and loving how the word _punish_ made Ouma lick his lips. They stared at each other in tense silence for a heartbeat or two before Saihara latched onto Ouma by the back of his scarf and brought all five feet of him crashing to the floor.

 

Ouma hit the ground with a grunt, legs conveniently spread as he scrambled to prop himself up. "Ouchie...Did you have to throw me that hard? I can't believe you'd hit a poor, defenseless criminal who's done absolutely nothing wrong."

 

_This might be a bit much, but..._

 

"Shut up." Saihara delivered a sharp kick to Ouma's bare thigh. Sure enough, Ouma let out a pitchy little whine, leaning back on his arms to expose even more of his body.

 

"Is that what they teach you to do in detective school? Wooow, you're soooo eloquen -- a-ahhhh..." he moaned, feeling the toe of Saihara's shoe digging into his side.

 

"Shut _up_." If Saihara's pants were uncomfortable before, they were now a hellish cage.

 

"Nn...!" Ouma squirmed, so helplessly turned on that Saihara's only instinct was to ravage him.

 

"Shut up! What part of _shut up_ don't you understand? Shut your fucking mouth!" Saihara switched to his fists, socking his new punching bag right in the gut. Ouma let out a squeal, collapsing on the ground as his body was overtaken by a devastating wave of arousal.

 

"Saihara-chan, Saihara-chan, Saihara-chan..." He chanted it like a prayer, clothes and hair disheveled, blossoming with bruises.

 

" _What_." Saihara gripped the front of his jacket, staring into his clouded, teary eyes.

 

"I can't...I..."

 

_Ah -- Is he alright? Did I go too far?_

 

"Saihara-chan, fuck me!"

 

_O-oh._

 

Ouma had his legs raised, pinned together at the knees. His soft, small hands pried plump thighs apart, creating a gap that he pinched and caressed as panted, "Here. Stick it in here, okay? I don't want you getting diamond shards in your dick."

 

_At this point, I don't think diamond shards would be able to hurt my dick._

 

"So considerate," Saihara commented, earning a breathy giggle. Two pumps from the conspicuous bottle on the nightstand later, he returned with a pool of lubricant cupped in his palm.

 

Ouma had shifted, hands braced against the floor, boxers dropped, ass on display. It was still a bit pink from earlier. "Come on," he whined, wiggling his hips. "I don't have all day. I'm a busy guy, you know?"

 

Saihara smacked his ass lightly. "Patience."

 

"Ngh! Ahaha, _ahhhh_ , you're getting so bold..." Ouma nestled his head in his arms as Saihara started to coat his inner thighs, slathering them until they were glossier than a magazine spread.

 

And finally...

 

"I'm sliding in, alright?" Saihara's hands sank into the soft padding covering Ouma's lithe frame, steadying the little leader for what was to come.

 

"Okie-dokie! Any day now. I've been waiting for yeeeaaars -- o-oh!" Ouma's body jerked as Saihara worked in his first thrust, his cock penetrating the supple tightness of Ouma's thighs.

 

He'd never felt something so plush before. His second thrust was faster, accompanied by a slap as bodies collided. Ouma's breath hitched.

 

"Don't...don't be gentle, Saihara-chan. Pound me." Those thighs tightened around Saihara's length, warm and slick and utterly perfect. "I know how rough you can get, s-so...don't hold back. C'mon, show me what you can do, rookie. I bet you -- ah! Ah, ah, ah, oh god...!"

 

"Stop calling me rookie," Saihara muttered. "It's annoying."

 

"Aha...what are you gonna do about it?" More wet slaps. Ouma arched his back, a fuzzy pressure pooling between his legs every time Saihara's cock brushed against his own. Suddenly, there were hands squeezing his soft waist, pinching the light layer of excess fat blanketing his stomach and massaging his untoned chest. He couldn't help but moan.

 

"Whatever. Keep running your mouth, tubby." Teeth sank into his neck. Ouma let out a surprised squeak.

 

"You're so mean...!" Saihara started to speed up, driving Ouma into the floor with each thrust. "H-hey, I'm not edible, stupid. I said hey -- ooh, fuck!" Ouma cried, eyes rolling up into his head.

 

Saihara had drawn his hands back down until one rested on Ouma's hip and the other reached around to stroke his neglected cock. "You've been put in your place twice today. Do I need to do it again?"

 

Ouma let out a pathetic whine, jerking his hips desperately. "Y-you used to be so nice, and now you're...ngh, what happened?"

 

"You." Saihara gave his cock a rough squeeze, pumping out a mess of precum and a drawn-out whimper.

 

Shivering with pleasure, Ouma had lost track of the conversation, providing no response except for an escalating series of incredibly lewd noises, which finally pitched up into a catastrophic "Saihara-chan, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum I'm gonna cum I'mgonnacum -- "

 

"Who said you could do that?" Just like that, Saihara's fingers strangled the base of his member, cutting him off from his climax. Ouma nearly sobbed.

 

"You're no fun," he complained, slumping over.

 

"Sit up."

 

"Eh?"

 

Dazed, he complied, settling down on his haunches. Momentarily, Saihara appeared in front of him, dick still dripping with lube and pre. Ouma had to swallow the needy whine that rose in his throat.

 

Saihara mopped his bangs out of his face, straightened his clothes, then yanked Ouma up by a fistful of hair. "Suck."

 

There was no suppressing it anymore. Ouma gasped, the tantalizing mixture of physical pain and verbal command knocking out his higher functions. Before he knew it, he was furiously stuffing his mouth with cock, thighs twitching as he felt his load threatening to release itself again.

 

Saihara hissed, throwing his head back as the heat engulfed him. It took all of his control not to start fucking Ouma's mouth like a wild animal. Those lips popped off the tip of his cock with a sloppy sucking noise, then attacked him again. And again. And again. Before long, he felt himself going weak at the knees. "Ouma-kun, I'm cumming...!"

 

Thankfully, Ouma wasn't feeling up to payback, and simply nursed Saihara in his warm mouth until his tongue was coated with a salty load.

 

"Ha...ah..." Saihara panted.

 

_Did I really...? I can't believe I just..._

 

_Oops, Ouma-kun hasn't come yet._

 

Saihara knelt, ignoring how his spent cock still twitched a little at the sight of Ouma's flushed, cum-splattered face and shivering body. He reached forward, ready to provide what he'd denied earlier.

 

The second he had his hand in place, Ouma let out a choked moan and came all over himself.

 

_He's...a complete wreck..._

 

_And I did this to him. Somehow, I feel very satisfied._

 

"Whoa! Saihara-chan made a huge mess!"

 

_Ah, of course he's the kind of person who bounces right back after something like that._

 

"Wha -- me? Part of this is yours, Ouma-kun."

 

"Nishishi. It's your fault, though. Where's Toujou-chan, anyway? Someone has to clean this up."

 

"Ew, no."

 

_And he's as unrepentant as ever._

 

"Okay, fine. Lick it up, then! Use your tongue as a cleaning rag! C'mere, start with your own gross goop."

 

Saihara let himself smile. "If you wanted a kiss, you could've just asked." Before Ouma could respond, he leaned in, gingerly placing a tender, chaste smooch on the supreme leader's lips.

 

Ouma lit up as red as a stoplight. "I just got cooties from Saihara-chan," he mumbled, a hand covering his mouth. The sight of him made Saihara trap him in a bear hug, refusing to let go until he finally went limp, cuddling into the detective as if he wasn't covered in lube and drying semen.

 

_Maybe there is something to this crush after all._


End file.
